Traitor
by Prunus padus
Summary: Hermione's animagus form takes the shape of an ordinary back-yard cat. She uses her new skill to get free access to the library. But alley cats aren't the only ones sneaking around Hogwarts at night. OotP
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter one**

It was Harry's idea in the beginning of course. It was only natural; he greatly admired the Marauders, especially since learning that his father could transform into an animal at will. That animal being something as impressive as a stag probably had a bearing as well. In any case, he kept nattering about them and their nightly escapades until her head was full of it.

But Hermione Granger was never one to deny a challenge.

She was the one who decided they should learn after all. And so they started out together, but as it turned out, Harry was too depressed and simply didn't have the time. And then Ron wasn't nearly passionate enough so it ended up just being her.

Hermione's animagus form took the shape of an ordinary back-yard cat.

At first she found it disappointing. The pictures in the book she learned from were of beautiful and fascinating creatures. There was the tale of Wilhelmina Twycross, who transformed into a chimaera. And of the famous Antioch De-Mimsy, the only wizard in history who could become a unicorn. Others were of people who took the shape of eagles, lions, or even wolverines.

Compared to them, Hermione was undeniably boring. She was neither fierce nor strong. But ending up as alley cat had its benefits. This was soon brought to light through practice. Because compared to poor Antioch, with his spiral horn and shimmering white coat, she was completely and utterly inconspicuous. Her tabby brown fur blended perfectly with shadow. In a school where cat was one out of three types of beast allowed for students, she could completely disappear. People in Hogwarts were so used to cats that they barely gave a blip on the radar.

As she slowly got the hang of the transformation, Hermione discovered that she could sneak around without being noticed. She could even use her new skill to remain inside the library at times when it was normally closed. Incidentally, those were the times best suited to study the most interesting books. Those they would need to help Harry defeat Voldemort. Or overthrow the hag Umbridge. Or even help him find new spells for DA.

Hermione was kept very busy that year. As a cat, Hogwarts lay open before her feet. She even managed to befriend Mrs Norris who turned out, although she was part kneazle, to be just an animal and not quite clever enough to distinguish an animagus form the real thing.

But it was December that christened her. Harry didn't say much, but she understood from his forlorn expression and sullen mood that the nightmares had not abated. They were to separate during the holidays and so she wanted to read up on dreams before they left.

That was her reason for hiding in the library in cat form the Tuesday night before Christmas, waiting for Irma Pince to take her leave.

She settled behind a gargoyle the way Crookshanks and Mrs Norris had taught her, tail tucked around her paws. A group of students were finishing off far down the isle. She could not see them from her spot, but she heard the scrape of chairs and the light patter of footfalls. With them were the heavier treads of an adult. Madam Pince was out, probably stacking files in the office.

The shelves of books appeared huge from her height. Having four legs and a tail was gradually becoming familiar now, although it had taken some time in the beginning to sort out the most important body parts. Cats also had excellent night vision, which she benefitted from on dark autumn evenings.

It was just before dinner. She watched the students leave, preparing to wait for at least one other person and then Madam Pince. If everything went to plan, she would spend the night, pick a few hours' sleep on a chair and then leave once Pince returned in the morning. Cats could nap just about anywhere and amazingly didn't require the eight-hours-straight Hermione usually would have. She'd be good to go in time for breakfast.

But things didn't go to plan that night. Because just as soon as the students were gone, the door opened once more and someone came in. Hermione's ears twitched. The click-clack of heels on the stone tiles and the quiet 'ha-hem' were unmistakable. Umbridge.

The skin on her neck prickled. She crept as far back against the wall as she could go as Umbridge strode past her down the aisle. Hermione caught a glimpse of lurid pink tweed and inhaled the scent of sweet, cloying perfume. The bow on Umbridge's head bobbed in time with her steps.

"So is this where you've been hiding." Umbridge managed to sound both satisfied and peeved all at once. Her voice was sickly sweet. But she had already passed the place where Hermione lurked, so there was no immediate danger.

"Notify me or the Headmaster the next time you vacate the classroom, please," said Umbridge with cool superiority. "We didn't finish our conversation before."

Trust Umbridge to burst in like this. The witch was utterly horrific. Hermione felt her tail flick back and forth in annoyance.

"And note that I also do not appreciate you vacating a space before I finish talking," sniped Umbridge to whomever stood at the end of the room. Hermione assumed it was a teacher. Umbridge's voice was pitched to carry, but she couldn't hear what the other person said.

"I know you two have some sort of understanding," she continued. Her voice dripped displeasure. "Dumbledore seems to think it just fine for teachers of this school to lollygag in and out as they please, but the Ministry does not take easy on people who shirk and laze about."

The voice became muffled. Hermione presumed Umbridge were whispering threats of some sort. Indignation and anger on behalf of the teacher being yelled at so rudely made her wish she was indeed a chimaera. At least then she could have got rid of this plague once and for all.

"As High Inquisitor, I will leave you with a warning," Umbridge continued to rant. "And this is official. You are on probation. The next time I catch you leaving school grounds at night, you will be looking for another job. And with your _résumé_–" She gave her sweetest laugh. "–I can only wish you luck."

The heels stomped off. Hermione heard another door open then close. Apparently, Umbridge had business with Pince as well, which was enough to quell Hermione's plans. She didn't dare chance her luck when the place swarmed with staff.

Carefully and silent as a falling feather, she picked her way forward to find out who was the unfortunate recipient of Umbridge's wrath. They'd been put on probation, which didn't bode well. She dearly hoped it wasn't Professor McGonagall or Vector, who taught her favourite classes. She resolved to herself that even if it were Trelawney, she'd give that person a token of encouragement somehow. No teacher deserved this treatment, no matter how silly the subject.

No one were immediately near, but she traversed the distance to the corner of a shelf in two agile leaps – and collided promptly with a stiff leather boot.

The impact came as a shock – the boot's owner must have walked silently, yet with a determined stride. It sent her rolling, knocking her head and side on the flagstone floor. And so much for the myth about cats always landing on their feet.

Then again, she was no proper cat and had only just learned how to pretend. Hermione knew her ribs should hurt, and her head, but was too dazed to feel the pain. A second or two must have passed in oblivion, because in the next instant, the boots were back and right beside her.

She tried desperately to get up and run away, but her paws had claws now for some reason. They were slippery on stone and the stupid cat feet would not cooperate. Before she knew what was happening, she was picked up by the scruff of her neck and lifted high up in the air. There she dangled, staring into the dark gaze of Professor Snape.

"My apologies," he murmured, "I must have been distracted."

But the words barely registered with her. Her ears were assaulted with a sharp hiss and in the confusion, she didn't even realise it came from her. She had to get away. She trashed and fought, and Snape held her out at arm's length.

He looked a tad ruffled from the confrontation with Umbridge. Another hand came up beneath Hermione's chest and held her firmly. Her cat-heart beat against it at a hundred miles an hour. Then a look of alarm flashed across Snape's face.

"Christ," she heard him breathe. "I hope you don't belong to her."

In any other situation, Hermione would have been deeply insulted. She would have taken it as a personal affront had anyone suggested a link between Umbridge and her. But right then, she was too busy panicking. Snape could ruin everything if he became suspicious. And suspicious was practically his default.

He seemed to examine her for injuries. Considering what she had just overheard, he was probably afraid of Umbridge's reaction. As he shifted his grip to trace his fingers along her ribs, Hermione did what she could with the measly weapons she had.

She bit down on his hand as far her teeth would go.

Snape swore foully and oh – there was the floor again. But she was prepared this time. Using her tail to gain momentum, Hermione managed to twist in the air. Before Snape could even clutch the injured hand to his chest, she was out of the room like a furry brown arrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Streamers of holly and mistletoe ran along the walls and there was a frost-covered Christmas trees with fairy lights next to each table. Enchanted snow fell from the ceiling, warm and dry. They didn't know it yet, but breakfast that morning would be their last together before the holidays.

"You didn't get in?" Ron was the one to question her, because Harry was in one of his gloomy moods and would only stare into his porridge.

"No, Ron. I didn't." Hermione glanced around to see if anyone could overhear. They sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, a little ways from the others.

"But what do we do then?" Ron frowned at her. "There's only a few days left before we leave and then it'll be another three weeks until we're back. Harry can't go on like this."

"I've already told you," snapped Harry, "I'm _fine_."

He was obviously not. Hermione sighed. "I don't know," she said to Ron. "I might try again tomorrow. If I'm lucky I might bring some notes home with me."

"Yeah." Ron shrugged. "I guess you could send us a letter." He looked at her. "What happened yesterday anyway? You mentioned running into Umbridge?"

"She was there, yes."

She glanced at the teacher's table, where Snape was sitting in his usual place next to Professor McGonagall. His right hand had a small white bandage and she felt a prickle of discomfort seeing that he used it gingerly to eat. Cat-bites could give nasty infections. She remembered the salty-coppery taste of blood and the feeling of her sharp little teeth tearing his flesh. Tried to convince herself he deserved it.

But she didn't quite succeed. What business had Umbridge putting him on probation like that? Was the Headmaster no longer in charge? She knew that Snape was a spy for the Order, which was surely connected to his disappearance. Was Umbridge onto something?

Hermione's friends could testify to her tenacity when she set her mind on something. And now she wanted to know more about this situation.

"And?" prompted Ron. "What did she do?"

"Nothing," said Hermione, turning back. "It was Professor Snape who caught me. She was reprimanding him for leaving the school at night and I ran into his boot." She shifted to try to make her ribs more comfortable. "I have a giant lump on my head to prove it."

"Blimey." Ron blanched. "Snape caught you? Does he know? However did you get away?"

"What do you mean he's leaving school?" Harry raised his head.

"Welcome back, Harry." She smiled, pleased to finally have a proper reaction from him.

"Does he know it was you?" Ron waved at her to get attention.

"No, Ron." She chuckled. "He thought I was Umbridge's cat. It was quite funny actually. I'm pretty sure he was as terrified about hurting her pet as I was about being trapped like that."

Ron grinned. "Do you remember when she 'inspected' Snape in class?" He snorted a laugh. "Ah, those was great times. I swear I couldn't even choose which one of them I wanted to win."

"Well," said Harry with a small smile, "Umbridge did, obviously. Don't you remember Snape's face? He looked like she'd stuffed a lemon down his throat."

"Yes I do," said Ron, eyes misting over. "It was a beautiful moment."

"I'll never side with Umbridge, that's for sure." Hermione's gaze shifted to the head table again, where Umbridge watched the students imperiously. "Anyone else is better…well except maybe You-Know-Who."

"Yeah…" Ron looked at Harry again and his face turned serious. "How are you doing, Harry?" he asked gently. "You don't look so great these days."

"I'm fine," he replied, seeming more alert than before. "What exactly were they talking about, Hermione? Umbridge and Snape? You said he left school?"

Hermione shrugged. She didn't want to add any burdens to Harry's shoulders. Not that he'd be overly concerned about Snape in any case. "Oh, she was yelling at him," she said. "She threatened to suspend him, but I guess that's how it goes with her. I hardly think she knows anything about what he's doing."

"And you do?" Harry frowned at her. "Hermione, you realise what Snape is?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry." Hermione sighed. She had forgotten just how much Harry loathed him. "And yes, I'm guessing both he and the Headmaster were away on an Order meeting."

Ron watched her thoughtfully. "Harry's right, you know," he said. "You don't know that. He could be meeting with his…other friends instead."

"He doesn't _have_ any 'other friends', Ron."

Both Harry and Ron burst out in snorting laughter. It was a beautiful sound in these dreary times and Hermione nearly broke into a smile as well. But only nearly. Idiot boys.

"I'm, pretty sure you're right, Hermione," Ron wiped at his eyes. "But what I meant was the–" he lowered his voice dramatically, "–the Death Eaters."

"I know what you meant."

"You could find out though," said Harry. "I mean he doesn't know you're you when you're a cat. You can watch him when he leaves. See what he's up to."

"I'm not doing that." She huffed. "I already feel guilty about biting him. I have no intention to add–"

"You _bit_ him?" Ron's eyes went wide with awe. "That's brilliant!"

"Yes, well. I had to do something."

"Listen," said Harry. "We have to investigate this. We should monitor the Marauder's map, at least. He's up to something. I just know it."

"We could go beneath the cloak, Harry," said Ron. "If we do that and Hermione goes as cat, I'm sure we can catch him in the act."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And how, exactly, will we know if he's meeting with Voldemort or not? We can't follow him out of school. We'd be expelled."

Ron sighed. "Of course we can tell, Hermione. If he's going to see the Death Eaters, then at least _something_ about him will be suspicious."

"Snape always looks suspicious to you two."

"Please, Hermione," said Harry. "Do it for me. For my peace of mind, at least. You know what he's like with me, he hates me. I _have_ to know."

She noticed Snape leaving the head table and a gnawing feeling in her stomach compelled her to stand as well. Guilt perhaps? Yet it wasn't really about biting him. She was the one to jump into his boot. Had she done something like that as a student, he would most certainly have taken points or worse. She would rather have thought him becoming angry at an animal as well. But he hadn't. His voice had been mellow and he was the one who apologised.

It broke with her previous conceptions of him. And most certainly with Ron and Harry's.

"I won't promise anything, Harry," she said.

"Where're you going?" Ron watched her gather her things.

"I'm off to revise. OWLs are in spring." She waved. "See you later."

Ron and Harry were well used to her busy schedule and merely shrugged. She hurried out of the Great Hall, following Snape's trail. He didn't seem to be in a hurry and she absently wondered how he would spend the holidays.

Did he have family? A home? Would anyone get him a present? It seemed unlikely. It occurred to her that Snape led a rather isolated life. Lonely even. She hadn't ever thought about him in that way before, like a real person.

It wasn't until she had already caught up with him and cleared her voice that it occurred to her: she had no idea what she was doing.

"Granger. You want something?" Snape broke his step to frown down at her. Then he made a jerk of his head in the opposite direction. "The library is that way."

Her ribs ached. She felt profusely stupid, but it was too late to turn back.

"Did you hurt your hand, Professor?" Gryffindor courage was speaking.

Snape glared at her. He probably thought it was all a prank. "What of it?" He glanced around the corridor, seeming to expect Harry and Ron to pop up out of nowhere.

"I was just curious," muttered Hermione. Her cheeks heated. "What bi– I mean, what happened?"

"A cat," he said dismissively. "Don't you have homework?"

"Err, no. Next week is Christmas." She pointed at his hand. "You should have Madam Pomfrey look at that. Animal bites can be bad for you."

He merely watched her, as though nothing she said made any sense at all.

Where did Professor Sprout keep all her shovels? Hermione wanted to dig a hole and sink into it. Why had she done this when she knew he wouldn't appreciate it? Snape always took things in the worst possible meaning, everyone knew that. And even if he hadn't, she couldn't expect him to recognise the apology, especially since she had no intention to reveal that she was the biter.

"Yes, well. I –err– hope you feel better soon."

Utterly humiliated, she turned her back on him and hurried off. She could feel mistrustful eyes on her and didn't stop until she reached the safety of Gryffindor Tower.

~o~

As things turned out, Harry's plan to meet up and spy on Snape failed disastrously. That night, he experienced the worst nightmare yet and when Hermione woke in the morning, both he and Ron were gone.

Professor McGonagall came to inform her that something had happened to Mr Weasley and that Mrs Wealsey had taken all her children and Harry to St. Mungo's. Hermione spent the day waiting anxiously for a note or letter, but not a word came. She felt worried, but also a little left out. In the privacy of Gryffindor Tower, she could admit that to herself. She had thought herself a part of the Weasley family as much as Harry was, but they hadn't even woken her to let her know.

But that left her with time on her own and a dilemma. Were she to honour Harrys wish and spy on Snape? Or did she stick with her original plan to learn more about his nightmares? She couldn't decide and resolved to write to Harry as soon as she got home. But she didn't spend the day in idle.

The last potion class was that Wednesday and she took the time to have a look at Snape. Not like she'd always done, like an urn that was there purely for her to tap knowledge from. Neither as she had done that summer, like a peripheral Order member deserving of her respect only because Headmaster Dumbledore claimed to trust him. This time she looked for real. At Severus Snape, the man.

He would never become Teacher of the Year, that was for sure. He started class with a long, tense silence, where he wrote out their assignment on the board. Then he called, "begin," and the class darted about their workstations. They were making the Befuddlement Draught, a potion to induce recklessness and confusion.

But instead of giving her complete attention to the work and her forthcoming grade, Hermione stole glances at Snape. Not that he looked any different than usual. He had his teaching cloak on and his hair was greasy as always. Those were the most attention-drawing things about him after all. Reasons why the students referred to him as 'great bat' or 'greasy git' behind his back. He prowled the student's desks, as he always did. He favoured the Slytherins as usual. And he offered snide remarks and barbed instruction, as was his wont.

When Neville confused the order of scurvy grass and lovage, Hermione saw him heave a sigh. He glided over, silent as a shadow. For anyone not paying attention, he must have appeared at Neville's side out of nowhere.

"Longbottom," he said, deceptively soft, and Neville nearly jumped out of his chair. Several heads turned to watch them. "Do you know why lovage is added at the last junction in this brew?"

The question seemed innocent enough; Neville did commit an error after all. Yet Hermione knew from experience that it was rhetorical. Apparently, so did poor Neville. He stared into his brew with wide eyes, looking as though he was about to faint. The rest of the class watched in equal amounts scorn, sympathy, and relief that it wasn't them.

Neville turned bright red, stuttering, "I, ah–err…"

"Clearly not," said Snape contemptuously. He glanced around the room. "Would any of you dunderheads care to explain this to Longbottom? He seems incapable of comprehending his textbook."

Hermione's hand shot up, but Snape ignored her.

"Miss Parkinson," he said, seeming confident she could deliver.

Pansy grinned at Neville. "Because it has to mix with the fluxweed," she said snottily. "The potion won't work if it doesn't."

"Quite," said Snape, in his silkiest voice. He smirked unpleasantly, as though enjoying Neville's moment of despair. "This sludge is not a potion at all, Longbottom. That's detention for you. I have a barrelful of horned toads that need disembowelling." He vanished the mess, cauldron and all. "And ten points to Slytherin, Miss Parkinson, for providing the correct answer."

Neville looked crestfallen. He slowly set about cleaning up his desk. Hermione watched him for a moment. It wasn't strange at all that he failed in this class. He was so nervous and tense around Snape that he simply didn't have the focus for potion making.

She finished up her own brew and settled down to wait. Snape sat in the chair behind his desk, writing something on a piece of parchment. Strands of shoulder length black hair brushed against the curve of his chin and obscured parts of his face.

He seemed like always. Like Snape. Yet…there was something about the hunched shoulders and bent head. He seemed tired somehow. Behind the bark and snipe, Snape the man appeared dull and listless. Hermione couldn't say she'd really noticed that about him before. He had dark bags beneath his eyes and his skin had an unhealthy, sallow sheen. The furrow between his eyes made him appear as though he had a perpetual scowl on his face.

When one looked more closely, the tense, biting attitude could just as easily be that of someone with one too many worries.

Snape's head jerked up all of a sudden. He searched the class as though he could sense someone watching him. Their eyes met and this time he scowled for real. Hermione decided to test her new theory and her luck. As unobtrusive as she could, she held his gaze, offering a small smile of acknowledgement.

But it didn't go down well. His whole body went rigid. It was like watching a snake coil to strike. "Five points from Gryffindor," he snapped. "For not paying attention to your work, Granger."

Well, that was just ridiculous. She was the first of them to finish and her potion was nearly perfect. Hermione glared into her cauldron, deflating. She should have known. He _was_ really mean. She hadn't done anything deserving of this. All she'd given him was a smile. A very small one. And he took it as though she was planning something untoward. As though she had been playing a prank or mocking him or…oh.

She looked up again, more careful this time, peeking through her own hair. Snape still watched her. A frown marred his face, but this time she saw it. His eyes. They searched her and the space around her. But they were not merely angry or annoyed as she expected, but wary.

She quickly lowered her gaze, relieving him of the unwanted attention. Did he think she was out to get him? _Her,_ of all people? She had defended him for years, insisting that Harry and Ron stop calling him names and use his title. And just what did he expect her to do? Laugh at him? It had only been a smile. Granted, she had never given him one before, but the reaction seemed excessive.

Afterwards, she left class feeling very much confused. Her attempt at politeness was a complete fiasco. Why was Snape like this? What was this paranoia? Was it because he thought that everyone suspected him? Because he knew exactly what most students thought about him? Or did he expect mockery and humiliation from everyone? She couldn't deny the surge of anger against him and she felt righteous about it. But she also wanted to know what drove him.

Hermione wished she could talk to someone who knew Snape. Someone sensible. It couldn't be the Headmaster. Neither did she want to approach Professor McGonagall. She was strict enough in her own right and would find such questions impertinent.

Distracted by her own thoughts, she nearly jumped when Neville came up to walk alongside her. They were outside the Great Hall now, well out of Snape's earshot. Neville smiled at her and touched her shoulder. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

She turned to watch him. "Do what, Neville?"

He shrugged. "Stare at him, or whatever you did. I appreciate you standing up for me, but I think the rest of Gryffindor would rather keep the points."

As though to confirm his words, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown threw them a passing glare. Hermione blinked.

"I didn't do anything," she said, befuddled.

"There must have been something." Neville nudged her. "Did you make a face? Watch him with narrow eyes? It doesn't take too much, you know."

"No." Hermione jerked her head in exasperation. "I just smiled."

"You smiled?" Neville gave a nervous laugh. "At…Snape? Hermione, what on Earth did you do that for?"

"What's wrong with that? Neville, don't say you've never smiled to a professor before. It's quite a common thing to do, you know. Being polite, I mean."

"Yes, but this is _Snape_." Neville looked at her as though she had lost her marbles. "No one does that. Not even Professor Dumbledore smiles at Snape."

"He doesn't?" Hermione frowned. Dumbledore smiled at everyone, didn't he? He always seemed so jovial and grandfatherly. "Why ever not?"

"Oh, Hermione." Neville rolled his eyes. "Why would anyone? I know you're real busy, being prefect and top student and all, but surely you must have noticed? No one likes Snape. He's a menace."

Oh, great. Even Neville sounded like Ron and Harry now. They kept telling her how much they hated Snape so how could she not? "I did notice," she said softly. "I guess I've just never thought about it all that much."

She had always known to keep her distance from Snape of course. Everyone knew that. She could avoid him, dislike him even. But Dumbledore had stated quite plainly that he trusted him. And thinking him evil on principle seemed irrational.

But the boys were still right in a way. She had no idea what Snape was up to. Because no one really knew him. He was impersonal and distant and plain old grumpy, which didn't encourage friendliness or familiarity. It was no wonder he didn't receive any and it almost appeared as though he wanted it that way.

Yet when one thought about it…that was absurd, wasn't it? Because no one wanted that, not truly.

"Yeah, why would you?" Neville gave her shoulder a pat. "Just don't do it again, okay? You're a decent friend, Hermione. I'd rather have you with us."

She watched him go. Why would she indeed? It started with guilt, she bit Snape rather hard after all, but now it morphed into something more. Curiosity, she named it, not knowing what else it could be. Yet she had a feeling this new interest would give her a lot of headaches.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

It was just past eight o'clock. Having caved to Harry's wishes now that they aligned with her own, Hermione roamed the corridors as cat, intent on searching Snape out in the dungeon. It was half-dark and the shadows were already long this time of year.

She had just leapt off a stair that threatened to move away when a sound from ahead made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

"Hem-hem."

She twirled to the side, staring straight into the pale-blue eyes of the last person she wanted to see. Her breath hitched. Because behind her, the stair moved away, leaving a drop of perhaps fifteen feet. She searched for a way out, but the passage was narrow. She thought her life would end when Umbridge squatted down to peer at her.

But as she was about to find out, cats happened to be just about the only thing that Umbridge liked. She picked Hermione up with surprising gentleness.

"Aren't you precious," she cooed and Hermione's heart nearly stopped in her chest. "Such a cute little kitten, you are."

With no other option, Hermione went limp in her hands. She didn't dare bite this time and it might seem like she wouldn't have to. Umbridge didn't have Snape's suspicious nature, perhaps she just wanted a cuddle. Hermione did however feel her tail flick in annoyance. This ghoul of a woman was the worst sort and at sixteen, she was not a 'kitten'.

But Umbridge didn't let her go. Instead, she clutched her to her bosom and continued the click-clack walk down the hall. To Hermione's horror, she seemed to aim for the staff room.

"I hate faculty meetings in this place," murmured Umbridge to a gobsmacked Hermione. "There's no order with these people. They're like naughty children, forever running around. And the Headmaster is the worst of them all. He astounds me sometimes."

People talked to cats, apparently. Snape had done the same, as someone would mutter to themselves. She wondered vaguely if she did the same with Crooks and if so, how much of her inner life he had been privy to over the years. Poor thing. Probably more than either of them were comfortable with.

Unable to contribute to the impromptu heart-to-heart with Umbridge, Hermione watched with trepidation as they burst through the door to the staff room. There was nothing she could do but face her doom. This would be the litmus test. If any of the real professors were to recognise her, she'd be expelled within minutes.

"Good afternoon everyone," said Umbridge and gave the room an imperious once-over. The Headmaster, who sat at the high end of an oval old table, was the only one to greet her. And even his curt nod was rather chilly.

Hermione searched the room quickly. She noticed Professors Vector, Sprout, and Burbage at the table, along with Filch and Hagrid, who both sat in a corner.

While Umbridge claimed the chair closest to Dumbledore, Hermione searched out Mrs Norris with her eyes. The cat watched her with yellow, lantern-like eyes. Her tail flicked once in reserved recognition. 'Help me', Hermione tried to say, but it came out as a pitiful, "meow."

Mrs Norris blinked and cracked a yawn.

"New pet, Dolores?" asked Dumbledore while pouring tea. "What a handsome beast."

"He is, isn't he?" Umbridge stroked along Hermione's spine, making her shudder in a strange mix of terror and disgust. The scent of perfume was strong enough to choke on, too heavy and voluptuous to be pleasing. "But he's not mine, I'm afraid. Must be a stray. There's no bell."

"Mm." Dumbledore looked up as Professor Flitwick entered and gave them all a brief salute. "Hogwarts is home to many creatures," he said absently. "Let the elves take care of him unless you want him for yourself. Evening, Filius."

"Albus." Professor Flitwick sat on Dumbledore's left, readying a piece of parchment. "Who are we missing today?"

This was perhaps the most absurd situation of Hermione's life. She sat there in Umbridge's arms, being petted and stroked, and no one were any wiser. Dumbledore didn't even look at her twice. It was unimaginable. She felt like she could faint.

The rest of the teachers and staff trickled in, one after the other. Even Snape came skulking in the end, looking as though he'd rather be elsewhere. When the door closed behind Professor McGonagall's back, Dumbledore stood.

"We shall open with a run-down of the latest decrees, as per usual," he informed the room. "Filius has the minutes."

Then, _finally_, Umbridge let Hermione go. She dropped to the floor and shook her fur viciously. If she never ended up in someone's lap again, she would count herself lucky.

But fortune wasn't quite on her side. Stuck beneath the table, she listened to the faint drone of Umbridge's voice. The only possible escape, the door she came in through, was blocked by the person she feared most of them all: Professor McGonagall. If anyone were to recognise her, it was the transfiguration mistress, of that she was certain. She was forced to wait them out.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, she surveyed the feet beneath the table. Hagrid's were easily recognisable due to the sheer size alone. Professor Flitwick's were the same, only opposite, and she saw a pair of tasselled slippers that could only belong to Trelawney. Then there was the pair of boots she recognised all too well. Because she knew intimately how it felt like when they kicked.

Hermione watched Professor Snape's legs. He was the one she had wanted to spy on after all, and here he was. Admittedly, it wasn't quite this kind of situation she'd imagined, but what could she do? Harry would surely feel let down if she didn't take advantage.

Silent as a falling feather, she snuck around Snape's leg to settle between his chair and the table. Maybe she could find out if he had a say in the running of the school at least.

But Snape remained silent and the meeting was dreadfully boring. They didn't mention Mr Weasley at all. Umbridge demonstrated her lack of diplomatic skill by going on about the Minister for about half an hour, and then Filch voiced a long list of complaints. Headmaster Dumbledore talked about the organisation of the student's transport home and Professor Sprout demanded more potting soil for the greenhouses.

Hermione heard Snape grumble and stir a few times, somewhere high above her head. About midway through, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his feet. Not used to paying attention to such a peripheral body part, Hermione's tail managed to end up beneath his boot.

It was her own fault, but she let out a meow of indignation nonetheless: 'budge over, you big git!' Snape tucked his leg in, oblivious to the insult, and glanced warily in Umbridge's direction.

Then the meeting was over and Hermione had to jump aside to avoid the scraping of chairs and shifting of feet again.

Disappointed, she pondered how to get out. She would not risk being trapped by Umbridge once more. Nothing was worth that humiliation. Perhaps she could tag onto Mrs Norris and Filch? Or Hagrid? She didn't even want to think about what Harry and Ron would say. They'd laugh at her, most likely. She was possibly the worst spy in history.

But then it came again. The sickening, "ha-hem," and this time, it was directed at Professor Snape.

Quick and nimble, Hermione traversed the table's distance to position herself beneath Flitwick's chair. He was among the first to vacate the room and from here, she had a clear view of the other teachers.

"What is it now?" said Snape in a long-suffering tone. Hermione saw Dumbledore frown in the corner, but he remained silent.

Umbridge waved a parchment beneath Snape's nose. "The list," she proclaimed, obviously continuing an earlier exchange. I want them done by the first of January. The ones marked in bold are first priority."

He caught it, glancing at the text only briefly. Ignoring Umbridge, he looked at Madam Pomfrey. "Are these your request, Poppy?"

Madam Pomfrey turned towards them. "I –ah– no," she said. "I mean–" Her eyes flicked between Umbridge and Snape.

"_I_ request them," said Umbridge.

Snape squinted at the parchment. "Madam," he drawled, "this amount of Jawbind Potion requires three pounds of moonstone, at least. That's well outside this year's funding." He paused. "And the deadline is unrealistic. You might not be aware, but fluxweed is picked at full moon."

Umbridge tittered. "Oh, but don't you have a storage somewhere?" she asked. "Oh, yes. I remember quite well that I inspected it. I can't imagine you harvesting the forest at this time of year, _Severus_. The ground is frozen solid."

"No I don't, _Dolores_. That's what the greenhouses are for."

Hermione heard Professor Sprout giggle from the opposite side of the room. Umbridge did too, apparently, because her eyes darkened.

"That's 'High Inquisitor' to you," she said in her sweetest voice. "You will make the potions, Snape. It is your job after all."

Snape glanced at Dumbledore and what he saw there must have sobered him. He looked at the parchment again and Hermione saw the muscles in his jaw work fiercely. "Very well then," he said tightly, "Inquisitor Umbridge."

"And do make sure the truth potions are potent," said Umbridge. "The Ministry will hold you personally accountable if something is not to my standard." She gave Dumbledore a look. "Have a pleasant evening, Headmaster."

She then collected some papers from the table. Snape watched her back, glaring daggers.

"Severus, remain."

Dumbledore still sat in his chair. Steepling his fingers, he peered over his half-moon spectacles at Snape. Umbridge gave the Headmaster a satisfied nod. Then she departed after the others with a haughty air about her.

"You will make the potions," said Dumbledore once they were alone. He was serious.

Snape went rigid, as though Dumbledore had cracked a whip. "As you wish, Headmaster," he said stiffly. "May I ask–?"

"Yes. Madam Umbridge complains about you." Dumbledore said the name coolly, as though he too disliked her.

"I thought you might say that." Snape watched him, hesitated. "Is this a slap on the wrist or have you found a way to keep her at bay?"

"The first I'm afraid." Dumbledore gave him a small smile, but his eyes were hard. "Do not ignore her, Severus," he said. "Do not talk back. Do not give her a reason to go against you because she will and she can. And in this fight…you're too valuable for that."

Snape watched him in silence for a moment. "Are you trying to tell me she could have me arrested?" he asked, seeming for the first time a little unsure. "Would she be able to?"

Dumbledore looked at his fingers for a moment. "I shall do everything I can to prevent it," he said, meeting Snape's gaze. "I will straighten things out with her as best I can. But in the meantime I require that you keep your head down. Do not anger her, Severus, for you are already treading a tightrope. We both are."

Seeming to take the words as a dismissal, Snape bowed his head. "I understand, Headmaster," he said quietly. "I will do my best."

"Have a good night." Dumbledore stood and turned to leave.

Snape watched him go with a worried look on his face. The room fell into silence and he drew a hand over his face; Hermione could hear the light scratch of a stubble. Then he sighed and put his coffee mug away.

Umbridge was absolutely horrid. It was no wonder the teachers seemed to dislike her just as much as the students did. She gave everyone a hard time, but seemed to have a special sort of disdain for Professor Snape. Seemed to have it in for him somehow. Something must have happened between the two of them, something that tinged their encounters with a special kind of contempt.

Then there was the odd way in which Professor Dumbledore related to Snape. Hermione knew Dumbledore had authority with almost anyone, especially Order members. But this –it seemed a bit…too much. Hermione didn't know how to describe it, other than that Snape looked like he was cracking under the pressure.

But she would have to think more about that later. Harry wouldn't be pleased unless she could tell him where Snape went at night, so when he walked out, she followed him at some feet's distance, making sure to remain unnoticed.

But he didn't get very far. Near the junction at the main staircase, Professor McGonagall's path crossed theirs. Hermione pressed into the shadows of an alcove.

"Severus," McGonagall barked, caching him unawares. "Wait a moment."

McGonagall would not know, standing behind him, but Snape briefly closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump. He looked like a man who needed a break.

"Yes, Minerva." He turned on the stair to face her.

McGonagall looked down on him. "Septima told me," she said. "Did you think you could keep it a secret? You selfish snake. We could all use a good laugh around here."

"Told you what?" Snape took a step down, looking confused, but Professor McGonagall followed.

"How you informed the 'High Inquisitor' where she could stuff her pink bow." She grinned. "The way I heard it, words like 'simpering fool', 'ineffectual banshee', and 'hag' were in use." She laughed. "Severus, how could you?"

Snape grimaced. "That was perhaps…unwise," he admitted, glancing up at her. "Not that I regret it particularly."

McGonagall scoffed. "In any other situation, I would have given you a proper scolding, young man." She shook her head. "But I feel the circumstances are extenuating."

"I'm hardly young anymore," said Snape, surprising Hermione with the mild voice. "In any case, you needn't bother. The Headmaster has already called me on the carpet."

"Did he now?" McGonagall watched him sympathetically. "Don't take it to heart. The old goat thinks he has to be firm with you. He's too cautious by halves, I say. We need to weed out that plague." She started down the stair, expecting Snape to follow. "Any ideas then, Severus? They say you're nifty with potions."

Snape watched her from askance. And in the light from a nearby torch, Hermione saw him twitch a smile. She had never seen him do that before, ever. It occurred to her that he must be fond of McGonagall, in his own, reserved sort of way. That this was something they did on occasion, when the world seemed to go against them.

"Professor," he said loftily. "Are you suggesting I do her in?"

"With poison?" McGonagall scoffed. "They would know it was you in an instant."

Snape spread his hands in innocence. "We'll transfigure her then," he said. "She already resembles a–"

McGonagall barked a rich laugh that swallowed his last words. "Severus," she said, "you couldn't transfigure a frog if you tried. I remember your grades quite well. In fact, I do think I have a record of them somewhere." Her eyes glinted. "If you're nice, I might give them to you as a Christmas present."

"You should present them to your Gryffindors instead. They seem to think I am secretly an animagus vampire bat." He paused. "On second thought, don't."

McGonagall laughed again and Hermione watched them disappear down towards the ground floor.

She was too nervous to follow. In any case, she had more information than she could have ever dreamt about. Enough, in fact, to keep her up all night. She had observed Snape only for a short time, but a picture was forming that didn't fit with what she knew from before.

Sure, he was grumpy and sometimes mean, yet the thing that stood out to her the most was that he seemed withdrawn. At the staff meeting, the only words she had heard him speak was when someone demanded things of him. And if she remembered correctly, those were the only ones to talk to him at all. Most had merely looked past him, like he wasn't truly a part of their collegium. And although Professor McGonagall was cordial enough, he seemed to keep his distance even with her.

Then there was Umbridge of course, and what a hag _she_ was. Snape clearly wasn't in any hurry to conspire with Voldemort. He had more than enough to deal with as it were.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

The last day with proper classes fell on a Thursday. All the teachers led lax schedules; even Professor Vector, who usually liked to end her classes by assigning highly complicated homework, and Hermione spend most of the time thinking about what to do next. She had no idea how things were going with Mr Weasley, or what Harry and Ron were doing and it was frazzling her nerves.

What she really wanted, of course, was to barge into the Headmaster's office and demand answers, but she was way too respectful of him to do any of the kind. She only knew him peripherally in any case, not nearly enough to confront him, as he had only spoken to her directly a handful of times. Professor McGonagall had been deliberately tight-lipped as well and Hermione had no idea if it was safe to send a letter to Ron or Harry.

In the end, she returned to her night-time prowl, deciding that at the very least, she could be around if something of interest came up. She therefore spent most of the evening lurking about with Mrs Norris, who regularly patrolled the castle for Filch.

She hated this habit as a student of course, Filch had nearly caught her and her friends sneaking about on numerous occasions in the past. Not that they hadn't deserved it. But as a cat, it was convenient because Mrs Norris knew everything there was to know about Hogwarts. She had an almost uncanny ability to root out wrongdoers and suspicious activity and if anything out of the ordinary should happen, Mrs Norris was usually first on site.

Not that it helped Hermione much. She wasn't interested in students duelling in the corridors or snogging inside empty classrooms, nor in Peeves as he wreaked havoc in the trophy room. It wasn't until it neared curfew and she had wasted a tedious evening that would have better been spent reading, that something caught her attention.

They were sitting in the main staircase, where an errant gobstone had made Mrs Norris' hackles rise, when a set of steps on the landing beneath them made Hermione turn her head.

It was Snape. He strode out form the third floor corridor and onto the stair without looking up. Hermione crouched down softly, warily, watching as he walked downwards with a hand on the railing and didn't seem to pay attention to his surroundings at all.

Abandoning Mrs Norris, who ignored them both in favour of the offending stone, Hermione followed him.

Snape took the stair in long strides. Something about his body language made her think he was troubled. He looked tenser than usual, perhaps even angrier. She wondered if it had anything to do with Mr Weasley's situation.

Did he know anything? Probably. From the looks of things, he seemed to have come from the Headmaster's office.

Hermione hurried along, set on finding out. She traced him some twenty paces behind, secure in her nondescript cat-skin and soundless on her padded feet. They traversed the main entrance and went down into the dungeons. But just as they reached the potions classroom, something made Snape glance over his shoulder. His eyes found hers and he stopped in his track and froze.

Hermione nearly tripped over her paws. She was caught.

What happened next wasn't what she expected. For a heartbeat, Snape stared as though he thought she might pounce on him. Then, for some reason she couldn't fathom, he slipped across the hall into an alcove, silent as a shadow.

Hermione watched him, confused. He was clearly visible to her although he seemed to think himself well hidden. Had he seen something? She looked around nervously, but no one were near. It was odd. Perhaps he was hiding from her? She turned to him again, but he wasn't even watching her.

Not really knowing what was going on, Hermione slinked into the nook by his feet.

Snape gave her a sideways frown in the darkness. "Where's your mistress?" he murmured, glancing around the hall. "The great almighty Umbridge, hm? Where is she, little cat?"

Right. He still thought she was Umbridge's pet. Hermione resolved to dissuade him somehow. But first she had to make him see how idiotic this situation was. She sat and licked her paw, the cat equivalent of telling him to stop fussing.

Snape ignored her. He monitored the corridor from their hiding place and several minutes passed before he finally seemed to relax. He pocketed his wand, glanced around one final time, and strode off on long legs.

That wasn't exactly what she had been hoping for. Especially after the way Umbridge had reacted to her. And this time, she had a lot more confidence that he had no idea who or what she was. 'Hey, wait,' she meant to say. Instead, what came out was, "meow."

Snape already had a hand on the doorknob to his office. He glanced at her again, but didn't linger. He made yet another sweep-around with his eyes, and with a grunt of impatience, he disappeared into the room.

Hermione groaned. Why did he have to make spying so difficult? The door creaked and she knew she only had this one shot. Making a quick calculation of timing and speed, she leapt after him.

But the distance was much greater for a cat than it would have been for a human and in her rush, she forgot that she didn't stand a chance to hold the door. She yowled in pain when it slammed shut straight in her face.

Snape tore it open immediately. "You're not serious," he mumbled, blinking down at her where she lay crumpled on the floor. "What's wrong with you?"

Her head, obviously. She hadn't fainted this time, but when Snape bent to pick her up, she was almost grateful to the big git. She was woozy from the direct hit and her temples ached. Wretched oaken doors. There was no conceivable reason why they had to be that heavy.

But despite a thundering headache, she soon got other things to think about. Because Snape didn't let her go. He held her to his chest with one arm as he moved into the office. It was a creepy place, Harry had been right about that at least. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of jars and vials filled with eel eyes, frog brains, pickled salamanders, and other potion- related items. Snape retrieved some papers from a large, circular desk that stood in one end. Then he walked out into the corridor again and locked the door behind them with a flick of his wand.

Hermione hung there, stunned. This was not what she had bargained for at all and she had no idea what was happening. She had hoped to enter his office and hadn't even considered that he might do something other with his time than to grade essays or go on missions for the Order.

Snape didn't say a word, just carried her back up the stair and down again in the direction of the Hufflepuff basement. There, he entered a broad, brightly lit corridor she recognised well. Snape found the painting of a bowl of fruit and tickled the largest pear.

"Master of Potions, sir." At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, bowing and curtseying. The one who spoke was wrinkled and old. Hermione couldn't tell if it were male or female. "What will Master be having?"

No one seemed surprised to see Snape there and although they must have noticed him carrying a cat along, they didn't mention it. The old elf promptly fulfilled Snape's request for an evening meal and without being asked, he or she supplied a small bag and a plate. Snape declined a very gracious offer of hot chocolate with cream.

Hermione watched it all unfold, struck by how ordinary Snape was. He didn't seem at all like the minion of a dark lord, plotting to overtake the world. He merely seemed like a tired, overworked schoolteacher…who wanted a sandwich. Even Harry couldn't fault him for that.

But then they left the kitchen and this time he brought her deeper into the dungeons on the Slytherin side, down a corridor Hermione had never seen before.

The place was dark and mouldy. She glanced up at Snape to see if his expression could give her a clue as to what went through his head, but his face wasn't easy to read. She heard his heart beat close by her ear and the sound of his breaths as he walked.

But the trek wasn't a long one. Snape stopped near another, unfamiliar door. Without knocking, he opened it and carried Hermione inside. The door closed behind them and for a moment, they stood there in complete darkness. Even with her cat's eyes, Hermione saw nothing.

She felt Snape exhale a sigh that blew past her ears. It carried with it the feeling of returning home after a long day. Then he flicked his wrist and the fireplace came to life, bathing the room in soft, yellow light.

These were definitely his quarters. The place was chilly and had no windows. It was roomier than his office, but not by much. It had just enough space for a battered two-seater sofa and a low coffee table. There was another rickety table in one corner with a bottle atop it, where the colour of the liquor indicated whiskey. An alcove near the back held a single bed. Hermione didn't know what she expected, exactly. But probably something a little grander considering the rest of the castle. This was where he would spend most the year anyway.

Snape placed Hermione on the sofa and tossed his papers onto the table in front of her. He kicked off his boots, removed the cloak he usually wore during the day and undid the topmost few buttons of his coat. Then he set about lighting several torches along the walls.

Hermione shivered a little, both from the cold and from excitement. She might never become the world's greatest spy, but this fluke redeemed all her previous attempts. She was sure no other student had ever set foot in this place.

She looked around more thoroughly, surprised to find the teachers' flats so humble. Snape had many books, stacked neatly in shelves near the fireplace, but there were no paintings or other decoration. She spotted a few used tea cups on the mantle. The bed had plain sheets and a blanket. There was a door near the back, which she presumed led to a bathroom.

She startled when Snape sat heavily on the sofa, almost unseating her. He paid her no notice as he unwrapped the parcel from the kitchen, which contained a cheese and ham sandwich.

Hermione warily watched him eat it. He didn't seem angry anymore, nor in a hurry. He held the plate to his chest, not bothering with cutlery or tea. He didn't make a mess like Ron or Harry would have, but he was efficient about it, as though eating alone in his quarters late at night wasn't something strange or unfamiliar.

He paused though, when he noticed her looking.

"Doesn't she feed you?" he asked quietly. "Stingy, old hag."

Hermione snorted because according to the _Daily Prophet_, Umbridge was a few years younger than Snape. But her mirth quickly dissipated when Snape tore a small piece of the ham loose and held it out to her.

She watched him in dumbfounded astonishment. Snape was offering her food. To eat out of his hand. _Snape_. If Harry heard about this, he'd have a stroke.

"I didn't kick you on purpose, you know."

Hermione startled when he spoke again. He seemed to be trying to make himself appear as harmless as possible. His movements were slow and he waited patiently for her to make the next move. It was almost enough to have her snorting a laugh again. Maybe the blow to the head had been harder than she realised. She wasn't feeling quite herself.

"Go on, take it." Snape made a little gesture with his hand that would surely appear tantalising to a cat. "I won't hurt you."

Since he was being so nice about it and because it was polite, she crept over and took the piece of ham between her teeth. She made sure she didn't bite him this time, although Snape seemed to trust her not to. With the food secured, she retreated back to her corner of the sofa.

Snape watched her. "You're very small," he said in that low, assuring voice. "Even for a cat. Perhaps you're young."

He swallowed down the last piece of the sandwich and brushed his hands off. "We should have a look at that head," he said, reaching out carefully towards her. "Come here, boy – or girl, whichever you are."

Hermione acted on befuddled impulse. She approached him, trying to think quickly of how a cat would normally behave. She settled on cautiously sniffing him out, the way she had seen Crookshanks do to strangers. The bite she'd given him was nearly healed. Only faint, white teeth-marks remained, as though he had treated it with murtlap.

Snape's fingers smelled like ham and beneath that, the detergent they used for potion equipment in class. The back of his hand tickled her whiskers. There was another, weaker scent about him as well and it took her a moment to recognise it as muggle shaving cream.

Curious, Hermione was about to creep closer still, but was interrupted when the fireplace suddenly flashed green.

They both startled as Umbridge's pouting face appeared in the flames. Snape stood and with a cat's reflexes, Hermione ducked beneath the sofa, out of sight. Snape glanced after her before walking over to kneel in front of the hearth.

"Snape?" came Umbridge's impatient voice. "Snape, are you there? Reply immediately, or I'll come through."

"High Undersecretary Umbridge?" Snape put his head in the flames, not quite able to conceal the mocking tone.

"So you are there." She sounded miffed. "I've been calling on you several times. Your office was empty."

"Yes," said Snape. "I'm here now."

"And just where have you been?" demanded Umbridge. "I asked Filch about you, but he said he hadn't seen you since dinner."

"I was with the Headmaster." Snape sounded like he wanted to take a swing at her now. Hermione was almost worried he would say something too harsh.

"Why?" asked Umbridge, her voice becoming sickly girlish as it did when she was angry. "You two seem to have an awful lot of meetings. What did he want this time?"

Snape shifted. "You may ask him," he said tightly. "But I'm not sure he will tell you."

"Oh, but I'm sure he will." Umbridge smiled. "You forget yourself, Snape. I'm the one who provides the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts. Dumbledore has no choice but cooperate. Whether he wishes it or not."

"Yes, well." Snape shook his head lightly. "Did you want something?"

"I was checking in. Be sure to remember our agreement." The flames flickered. "And Snape. It's 'High inquisitor'."

Umbridge's face disappeared and Snape climbed stiffly to his feet. "Fool," he growled at the empty fire. "Too grand for your own good."

Hermione crept out from her hiding place and meowed, in case he had forgotten she was there.

Snape looked up at her. "Not satisfied with your living arrangement?" He went over to the rickety table in the corner. "You're a right traitor, aren't you? Not that I blame you."

Hermione blinked in the affirmative. He finally seemed to have the right idea about her views on Umbridge.

"Is it too early for a drink?" Snape poured himself one, seeming not to expect an answer. He looked tired, she noticed, and it didn't just seem to be caused by an unreasonable colleague.

Hermione crossed the room. She leaned back on her haunches and hoping she wouldn't miscalculate the distance this time, leapt onto the sofa to her former seat. Her head still felt strange and she wondered if Snape would let her free now. She could use a good night's rest.

But instead of kicking her out, he came back and put his glass on the table as he sat. Then he leaned over and picked her carefully up in his arms. He let her brace her front paws on his stomach while squinting down at her head.

"Mm. It's a nasty cut." His breath smelled of whiskey now, but it wasn't unpleasant. He traced his fingers along her ear and folded some of the fur away. "You should refrain from running into doors in the future – or anything that's bigger than you." He surprised her with a low chuckle that had her struggling for balance. "That would be most things then...Traitor."

Had she been in human form, Hermione would most certainly have blushed. She had never been this close to him before, at least not in this way. It was almost…intimate. But what astounded her the most was her own lack of fear of him. Snape was warm and soft and he held her head gently in both his hands.

She didn't even blink when he aimed his wand at her. "_Episkey_," he murmured. "_Tergeo_."

She felt the skin on her forehead knit. Snape put the wand away and traced his fingers over her head again, making sure the cut was properly healed.

"All done," he said. "Considering the size of that door you might have a concussion, but I wouldn't know how to treat that in a cat." He released her. "Perhaps you should stay a bit longer, just in case."

Snape seemed to expect her to move away, but Hermione found herself all of a sudden at a loss. She wanted to express…a thank you perhaps…something she struggled to find the right words for. Heavens knew Snape needed some form of encouragement.

But then it occurred to her. She was a cat and cats didn't have words. They didn't need them. Without really thinking about it all that hard, she gave his hand a gentle nudge with her head, the most curious form of cat affection and trust.

She received in turn a small smile before Snape picked her up again and placed her back at her spot on the sofa.

This…Hermione knew there was no turning back from it. This Snape was like a completely different person. Who was this man who didn't trust people, but only revealed himself in the darkness with no one near? Could he be this gentle with people too, or was it only with her, like this?

The room was warmer now and Snape removed his coat, leaving him in the white cotton shirt he wore beneath. He stretched unguardedly and sighed before placing a pair of slim spectacles on his nose and picking up the papers he had brought with him from the office.

Hermione looked away, overtaken by the feeling of witnessing something she wasn't meant to be privy to. This was Snape's home and she most empathically did not belong. Had he known, Snape would have felt utterly humiliated being tricked in this way by a student.

But she felt so very tired. Her head still ached and pounded despite the healed cut. If she could only take a brief nap, she would be good to go…

She closed her eyes, moving only when her ears twitched slightly in response to the quiet shuffle of papers and the occasional pop and crackle from the fire.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five**

Hermione woke up shivering. She felt sore and stiff and blinked blearily at the light form the wall sconces. Her temples throbbed and the bed felt weird and harder than usual. She tried to reach her hands out for a stretch, but it didn't quite work the way she intended.

It wasn't until her claws snagged on the fabric of Snape's sofa that it came back to her. She quickly glanced around, thanking every deity for not having reverted back into a human in her sleep. The fire had gone out and the seat next to her was vacant. The blankets on Snape's bed were rumpled – and oh – this was bad. She'd stayed the night. While Snape slept in the same room!

Embarrassed and confused, she tripped while jumping down on the floor and ended up face first. She scrambled to her feet when a snort from behind her alerted her that Snape was back.

He shut the bathroom door behind him and looked down at her. His hair was wet, dripping on the carpet, as though he had just walked straight out of a shower without bothering to towel it.

"You're the most graceless thing I've ever seen," he grunted. He had dark rings beneath his eyes still and looked like he would rather have stayed in bed. "Leave now. Go find some mice to hunt. I have about seventy students to dispatch."

'I don't eat mice', she meowed, but then she froze, watching him in horror. The Hogwarts Express! She was supposed to leave today and had no idea what time it was!

Snape walked over to the door and opened it for her. "Go away now, Traitor," he grumbled, "shoo."

Well, somebody was clearly not a morning person. But Hermione didn't hesitate. She burst through the opening at a sprint, hardly deigning Snape another glance. Her heart beat furiously as she raced through the corridors and up towards the towers. She didn't dare transform back until she could see the portrait of the Fat Lady ahead.

This. This was irresponsible and dangerous and – and she wanted to do it again.

By God, it was perhaps the most absurd situation she had ever been in. A sleepover at Snape's? Harry and Ron would think she was insane. Maybe she was? But she couldn't ever tell. Not this. And especially not the fact that she hadn't minded at all.

She recalled Snape's hands on the sides of her head and that double thump of his heart when he held her.

Merlin's beard, he even named her!

~o~

It was Lavender Brown who brought her back to reality. She sat at the dressing table near her bed and gave Hermione a long look as she burst through the door to their dormitory.

"Hermione, do you have a boyfriend?"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She would make the train on time then. Lavender hadn't even started on her makeup.

"Of course not, Lavender," she said distractedly, aiming for her dresser. "Whatever makes you think that?"

"Really?" Lavender turned to her with an eyebrow raised. "You've been gone all night." She smiled. "It's Dean, isn't it? Or Cormac? He's been sending you looks for weeks."

"He has?" Hermione hadn't noticed. It was a bit disturbing really. Not that he took interest, which was flattering, but rather that someone could pay attention to her without her notice. Spy indeed.

"Yes," said Lavender dreamily. "He's handsome, but I prefer Kenneth. What's that?"

"Kenneth Towler? Isn't he in seventh year?" Hermione barely paid attention; she was busy stuffing her things into her trunk. "What's what?"

"That." Lavender pointed at her. "Did you hurt your head?"

Hermione quickly touched her brow. "Oh that – that's nothing really." She gave a nervous laugh. "Just a scratch."

"Come here then," offered Lavender. "I'll fix it for you."

"Fix it? How…?"

"With makeup, of course." Lavender laughed. "Hermione, don't be so suspicious." She stood and brought Hermione to the dressing table, pushing her down onto the low stool in front of it. "We can't have you looking like a frump in front of a new boyfriend. This won't take a moment."

Hermione watched herself in the mirror. There was an angry red line across her left temple, a dead giveaway had she encountered Snape.

"Thanks, Lavender," she said faintly, surrendering to the unfamiliar world of blush and powder. For once, she felt lucky to have a roommate like this. Being a cat around Professor Snape was certainly taking its toll.

But within minutes, her face was polished in a way that made the small scab nearly invisible. It was almost like magic. Lavender was obviously quite skilled and she looked mighty pleased with herself. Hermione resolved to put some Murtlap Essence on later so that the cut wouldn't scar.

"I envy you, Hermione," said Lavender pensively as she started on her own face. "It's so exciting."

"Exciting?" She blinked, utterly confused. "What't there to envy?" Not her great looks, that was for sure.

"To be in love, of course." Lavender fluttered her eyelashes as she applied dark colour to her brows. "The racing of hearts, the butterflies…I can't wait until Kennteh notices me."

"Right." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not in love."

"Maybe you don't know it yet," said Lavender, "but _I_ know the signs. You were thinking about him when you came in. It was all over your face."

Hermione scoffed and went back to her packing. At least, it seemed, her secret was safe. Because Lavender obviously didn't have a clue. She was not in love, and especially not with Snape.

~o~

Hermione didn't spy any more that day, she went straight on the train to London. There, her mother and father met her and took her home.

Their original plan was to go skiing in France, but that was quickly changed. Because Albus Dumbledore sent her a letter, and in it was the disturbing revelation of how exactly Mr Weasley had been injured. And also the devastating way in which Harry found out.

Skiing wasn't really Hermione's cup of tea in any case. Soon, she found herself on the Knight Bus back to London and number twelve Grimmauld Place.

The festivities were muted due Mr Weasley's state, but Grimmauld was a busy nonetheless. Order members came and went and they held secret gatherings that none of those underage were allowed into. Mrs Weasley was tenacious in this regard and handled the 'security', a task she seemed to have well in hand. Extendable Ears were employed, as well as Harry's invisibility cloak. But the Order meetings remained impermeable.

Nevertheless, Hermione had other things to do with her time. Because in the back of her mind, a plan was slowly taking shape. The bottom line of it was that she wanted to make Snape's existence at Hogwarts a little easier. She could do little about his other duties and quite honestly didn't know much about them. She knew he spied on Voldemort, which inevitably must include meeting him at times. But that wasn't something she could help. She couldn't send a letter to the Dark Lord and kindly let him know he needed to treat his traitor a little better.

But what she might be able to influence, was Snape's relationship with one Dolores Umbridge. And writing letters was what she did. She had to employ all her knowledge about the woman if this were to work properly. She had to appeal to her desire to control, punish, and inflict pain. And all in the name of law and order.

_Dear High Inquisitor,_

_I am writing to you in the hope that things at Hogwarts may improve. I listened with rapt attention to your opening speech this autumn, and one phrase in particular stood out to me: that we must 'prune practices that ought to be prohibited'. _

_With this in mind, I raise concern about the potions teacher, Severus Snape. Professor Snape is not kind, as I am sure you know. He demeans the students, especially those that struggle. But what concerns me most is that he also uses physical means of punishment. _

_Please do something, High Inquisitor. The teachers of Hogwarts employ various disciplinary strategies, but Professor Snape's are excessive and cruel. Just recently, I saw him attack and strike my friend, Ron Weasley. _

_I hope you can somehow make him stop. He is frightening me and my friends and we dare no longer visit the dungeons in our spare time. _

_Wishing you a merry Christmas._

_Most hopefully,_

_your student, Hermione Granger_

She folded the letter, satisfied. She hadn't even lied, unless one counted the one small exaggeration about Ron. Umbridge would be thrilled upon reading this, she had no doubt.

She brought out another piece of parchment and chewed on her quill. The next letter was simpler in nature, yet more difficult to write. She wanted it to come from the heart.

_Christmas is the season to give thanks and my list begins with you. I know that you usually find my chattering tedious and so I will be brief: I wish you a peaceful holiday, Sir and hope that it is pleasantly free of toads. _

She neither signed nor addressed it, trusting Snape to recognise her handle from countless essays, both in script and wording. It was blunt perhaps, but she was Gryffindor after all. He would just have to suffer it.

Hermione borrowed Hedwig for Umbridge's letter, certain that this would annoy her the most. For Snape's, Ron graciously lent her Pigwidgeon if she could promise that that he would not suffer harm. But by now, she felt quite confident that Snape would be gentle about it, despite the owl's overexcited nature.

~o~

The holidays passed quickly. They visited St Mungo's, exchanged presents and had Christmas dinner together. New year came, white and cold, and on the second of January, Harry's life once again turned on its head.

He came up to Hermione and Ginny's room one evening, where Ron was beating Hermione soundly in a game of chess.

"I hate him," he said, slamming the door shut behind him. He looked very pale. "He's really done it this time."

Both Hermione and Ron jumped at the sound. "Easy, mate." Ron frowned. "Who's done what?"

"Snape," snarled Harry and Hermione heard Ron breathe a sigh of relief. He must have been afraid this was about his father again and Harry's vision. It had taken them days and a great deal of effort on Ginny's part to make Harry realise that he wasn't Voldemort's evil twin.

"Professor Snape was here, Harry?" Hermione found herself curious. She hadn't heard anything about Snape for nearly two weeks and she wondered how her letter had been received.

"What did the greasy git do, Harry?" Ron plopped down on Ginny's bed. "What _could_ he do? Term won't begin for another three days."

"You won't believe this." Harry paced a circle around the chessboard on the floor. "He's _goading_ him. Egging him on. And after all this, I fear he might do something he sholdn't."

"Who's goading who into what, Harry?" Hermione took Harry's hand and forcibly had him sit next to Ron. "You're not making much sense."

"Snape," spat Harry again, as though the name gave him a foul taste. "He was taunting Sirius. Telling him how he didn't do anything useful for the Order. And this to a man that spent twelve years in Azkaban! He's such a git."

Ron's eyes widened. "He's worse," he blurted, "that's just mean."

"Listen." Hermione looked between them. "I'm sure it can't be that bad," she said sensibly. "They're both adults, you know. Sirius knows to take care of himself."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "They had their wands drawn," he said flatly. "I had to step between them to prevent a duel."

"Wait a moment," said Ron, frowning. "Why was he here anyway? There weren't any Order meetings today. Isn't he supposed to be at Hogwarts?"

Harry gave Ron a hapless look. "He's supposed to teach me occlumency," he said on a sigh. "On Dumbledore's orders. It's to protect my mind from Voldemort."

Hermione blinked. Was this why Snape had been with Dumbledore the night she stayed in his rooms? Was it the reason he seemed so troubled?

"What's occlumency, Harry?" she asked gently.

"Mind-reading," said Harry. He scrunched up his face. "Or not. The opposite rather. I haven't a clue. I just wish I could curse him into a thousand slimy pieces."

"But it's supposed to protect you somehow?"

"Yes. It's about closing one's mind off from foreign invasion." Harry shook his head. "Can you imagine what he's going to do to me to teach me that? Snape is evil. He'll give me hell."

"I suppose, yes…"

Hermione did indeed wonder whether Snape could be trusted to remain detached and professional in this. Because Harry was right. In dealing with Harry in the past, Snape had shown himself to be selfish, childish, and a bully. She couldn't understand it. No one did that unless they were incredibly petty and insecure.

She thought about the man who cradled a cat to his chest in the dungeon and had difficulties reconciling the two. Yet somehow, she felt…protective of Snape now.

The situation seemed impossible. All Hermione knew was that just like Harry, Snape could use someone to stand beside him and weather it all.

~o~

The last time Snape came to Grimmauld Place before the start of term, she saw him for herself.

To keep her cover intact, she had resolved not to use her animagus form during the holidays. She was far more careful here, since the only other cat in residence was Crookshanks. There was also the possibility of encountering Sirius in dog form and she didn't even dare to think about the consequence of that.

Nevertheless, she needed practice. At least that was what she told herself as she sat behind a vase on the ground floor, pressing her body into the carpet to avoid Alastor Moody's spinning electric-blue eye. He might already have seen her had he not been so preoccupied pacing the room and tapping his cane impatiently, as though waiting for something or someone.

It turned out in the end that that someone was Snape. Hermione saw him enter through the front door and stamp snow off his boots next to the troll-leg umbrella stand. Then he rounded the corner and came face-to face with Moody's grizzled visage. They both froze and Moody had his wand out before either of them could blink.

"Moody," said Snape. He had flakes of melting snow in his hair and wore a thick woollen cloak. He watched the wand warily.

"Snape," growled Moody. He lowered the wand, but didn't put it away. "About time."

They were of about equal height, but Moody wore iron-soled shoes that made him stand a few inches taller. Hermione wondered what the meeting between these two unlikely people was about. To her knowledge there were no Order gatherings scheduled. And she had difficulties imagining the two of them socialising.

Apparently, Snape seemed to think in the same lines as her. He glanced around the room suspiciously. "Where is the Headmaster?"

"He'll be here soon enough," said Moody, his magical eye travelling over Snape. "I want a word first."

"Really?" Snape made no move to come closer and Hermione had the impression that he was cautious of displaying his dislike. Indeed, he seemed to avoid Moody's eyes, both the normal one and the magical. "What about?"

The wooden leg made a dull clunk as Moody planted it in the carpet. "I'm sure you know," he said. "Just as I'm sure you know why we're here."

"I assume the Headmaster sent for you," said Snape coolly. "Just as he did me. Where is he?"

"On his way, I already told you." Moody crossed his arms in front of his chest, the wand poking out from the crook of his elbow. "And if you won't give an explanation to me, then you will to him. And it better be a good one. I'd very much like to know just what happened tonight."

"What happened?" asked Snape through clenched teeth. A dark red colour suffused his usually pallid face. "You're not being very clear, Moody. Not that I expected much you're your addled brain."

"The breakout," said Moody harshly. He took a step closer to Snape, his eyes going between Snape's face and his hands. "Watch yourself now. Because this might well be the moment you're exposed for what you truly are."

Snape watched Moody with cold detachment. To anyone who did not know him, he might well appear caught out, but Hermione had learnt to pay better attention. She saw the stiffening of his body; the almost imperceptible inhale of a breath; how the lines on his forehead deepened when Moody dealt the news. It was clear to her that he had no idea what was going on. And that he was deeply unsettled.

Both Snape and Moody jerked their heads around when a creaking stair alerted them that they had company. Hermione pressed further back into the shadow. The steps weren't Harry or Ron's shuffling ones, but deliberate and assertive.

"What's going on here?" came Sirius' voice. "Alastor, is that you?"

Sirius sauntered down to the first floor, ruffled hair and dressed in casual clothes with his shirt partly open. His body stiffened when he saw Snape. "You," he said, making a sound of disgust. "You're out to disturb our sleep now? What is it this time?"

"There's been a breakout from Azkaban," said Moody. He nodded at Snape. "They're trying to throw the blame on you."

"On me?" Sirius laughed. "That's ridiculous. Who–?"

"Dolohov," said Moody, still looking at Snape. "Rookwood. Travers. The Lestrange brothers. Bellatrix. Mulciber."

"Ah," said Sirius softly. He too was looking at Snape now. "Your old friends. You must be delighted."

"Shut up, Black," hissed Snape. "They're not my–"

The front door opened again, breaking him off. Through it came Dumbledore, complete with frost-rimmed spectacles and icicles in his beard.

"Good afternoon," he said to the gathered party, brushing snow off his hat. "Thank you both for showing up so promptly. Ah, Sirius." He nodded and casually walked over to place himself strategically between Sirius and Snape. "You've heard the news?"

"I did," said Sirius. "And I hear I am to blame?"

Dumbledore waved him off. "That will be the headline of the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow morning, I am sure."

"Never you mind," said Moody. "I'm sure our _trusted spy_ can tell us more."

"Headmaster," growled Snape, "Moody is delusional. He seems to think I–"

"Did you check in with the Minister yet?" asked Dumbledore, ignoring Snape.

"Of course not," said Moody. "But it is all around the Auror Department. It won't take long before he knows."

"What I would like to know," said Sirius, eyes glittering, "is how this could happen without our knowledge." He looked at Snape expectantly.

Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief. "This is ridiculous, Headmaster," he said. His eyes darted between them. "Black is trying to–"

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly and Snape went quiet, clenching his jaw when Moody grunted a low laugh.

Dumbledore indicated for the others to retreat into the kitchen. "As I am sure you are all aware," he said, "Voldemort is on the move. But there are many curious young ears in this house." He glanced up towards the first floor. "We shall move this discussion to a more secluded space."

Moody clanked along behind him, but Sirius leaned close to Snape, partly blocking his way. He spoke so quietly that Dumbledore could not possibly have heard. But Hermione did.

"I'd like to see you slither out of this one, Snivellus."

That name. Her blood ran cold. How much was her intel worth?

Hermione felt oddly conflicted. Snape didn't have many good things going for him and he seemed to desperately need some sort of protection from Umbridge. Most people seemed distrustful of him and even Dumbledore, although generally supportive, seemed to have very high expectations.

Yet she once again felt trapped by the overwhelming feeling of witnessing something she shouldn't. She was excited of course, because she wanted to _know everything_. But a prickle in the pit of her stomach was adding to that feeling and it wasn't entirely pleasant.

It was unfair that she knew all these things about him while he remained oblivious. Just as much as she wanted to help him, she knew she was also betraying him. What she had seen so far was already much too revealing and she didn't dare think about what might happen if Snape discovered her.

She wasn't afraid of his anger, exactly. He wouldn't harm her. But the betrayal would hurt him. She knew enough to realise that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter six**

Hermione plopped down by the Gryffindor table, arriving just in time to snatch a plate of lunch before the food vanished. She had been busy the first week of term, having neglected to read ahead on their course material during the holidays. Her homework planner kept yelling at her to '_do it today or later you'll pay_' which, if she was going to be frank, didn't really help all that much.

Lavender Brown scooted closer to her with a bright smile on her face. "How's your secret boyfriend, Hermione?" she asked conversationally, apparently feeling that they had finally found common ground. "Did you send him a Christmas gift?"

Hermione, who had her fork lifted to her mouth, paused. Lavender was showing herself to be uncannily perceptive about her mood. Hermione hadn't seen Snape at all since the start of term, but the first potions class of the year was later that day and she had been flying on a cloud of nervous excitement at the prospect of finding out what he thought about her card.

The tension was getting to her as she toggled endlessly between regretting the whole thing altogether and curiously anticipating his reaction.

"I didn't," she told Lavender. Denying everything seemed not only useless, but would probably only make Lavender even more curious than she already was. She smiled pleasantly, trying to ignore Harry and Ron, who gave her looks of absolute confusion from the other side of the table. "I sent him a card though. Did you get a gift for…err…Keith?"

"Kenneth. Yes, I did." She grinned and looked down the table to where a group of boys were chatting rowdily. Hermione didn't know them very well, but a tall one with sandy hair and symmetrical features glanced their way and quickly looked elsewhere.

"I sent him an incredibly cute pompom key chain," said Lavender. "Red and pink with little hearts on it. I found it at the Christmas market in Diagon Alley."

Hermione saw Ron wrinkle his nose and suppress a chortle. "I'm sure he was, ah, surprised," she said, taking a bit of her lunch. "Did he reply?"

"No, not yet. But I did receive a Christmas card from Dean." Lavender smiled. "Did you know that Dean can draw? He seems so mysterious…tall, dark and handsome…"

Her eyes glazed over and she leaned her head in her hands. "Do you remember when he stood up against Umbridge in class?" she murmured with a sigh. "Dean is really brave."

"Right." Hermione twirled her fork around in her hand. Following along on Lavender's interest in boys proved to be quite the challenge, but the mention of Umbridge gave her an idea. Maybe Lavender could help nudge her secret project along?

"Actually, I think you might be right, Lavender," she said. "Dean _is_ really brave. Do you remember when Professor Snape gave him detention last term for reading the _Daily Prophet_ aloud in class?"

"Yes, I do!" Lavender's eyes glittered. "He told Snape to get his head out of his arse and have look at what was going on in the world."

"He did," said Hermione. "Professor Snape took thirty points for that."

"That much?" Lavender frowned. "Snape's such a git," she said while her expression morphed into one of horrified disgust. "I don't think he's ever washed his hair, not once. Isn't that just awful?"

The sincerity of Lavender's consternation on behalf of Snape's hair had Hermione nearly chuckling. She smiled to herself, remembering Snape's hair dripping-wet and making pools on the carpet of his rooms that morning before Christmas.

Lavender would surely have been speechless had she known what Hermione now knew: how Snape talked to cats like any other person, where he lived, what his laugh sounded like, and that he did –despite Lavender's misgivings– indeed shower.

"I don't think he's a very good teacher, no," she said carefully. "I rather think we'd be better off with someone else. Someone who doesn't punish us for nothing. Don't you?"

"Probably." Lavender shrugged. "But what can we do? If we say something, he'll just give us detention."

"If you say something to _him_, yes." Hermione watched her. "But there are others in this school with more power than Snape."

"You mean Dumbledore?"

"We have a 'high inquisitor' now, don't we?" Hermione took a casual bite of her meal, ignoring the confounded looks from Harry and Ron. "I guess we should really take it up with her."

"You're not serious." Lavender scoffed. "Umbridge? She'll just take Snape's side. There's no way she's going against him."

"I think she'll be bound to take it up with the Headmaster, don't you?" Hermione gave her an innocent look. "Or perhaps even the Minister. He's the one she answers to in any case, isn't it?"

"You think so?" Lavender looked at Harry and Ron for aid, but they could only shrug and shake their heads. "Maybe you're right, Hermione…"

"Just write her a letter, why don't you?" Hermione gave her a smile. "Tell her what happened to Dean. He'll thank you for it, I'm sure."

"Maybe I will… Thanks, Hermione." Lavender gathered her things and gave them all a wide grin before informing them she had 'stuff to do' before potions.

Harry immediately turned on her with a scowl on his face. "Hermione," he hissed. "What do you think you're doing? This isn't like you at all. What's going on?"

"You have a boyfriend?" asked Ron, incredulous. "You haven't said–"

"Of course I don't," she interrupted him. "Lavender sees love all around; you know what she's like."

"Oh." Ron blushed slightly. "If you're certain…?"

"You have seemed distracted of late," said Harry. He was still suspicious. "Are you sure you're not hiding something?"

"Obviously I am." Hermione gave him an exasperated glare. It wasn't as though she needed to lie. "I'm sneaking around at night spying on respected Order members, aren't I? Lavender surprised me when I returned late, that's all. She thought I'd been with a boy."

"Right. That…makes sense." Harry watched her. "Found out anything new then? About the escaped Death Eaters, I mean?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing that hasn't been in the papers. But that's a load of hogwash in any case." She pushed her plate away. "How's 'remedial potions' going, Harry? You've had another lesson, haven't you?"

Something closed off in Harry's eyes and he looked away. "Yeah," he said, "Snape's still a bastard."

"How so?" Ron looked between them. "Is it worse than potions?"

"A million times worse," said Harry flatly. "He's foul, probably the worst teacher in the world. He doesn't tell me what to do, not anything, he just keeps on – attacking me. He even saw the…"

He trailed off, but Hermione didn't miss his glance at the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang chatted animatedly with Marietta Edgecombe. Nor the way his cheeks turned slightly pink.

"That's horrible, Harry." She gave him a sympathetic look. "But have you made some progress at least?"

"I have no idea." Harry looked utterly dejected. "It gives me these awful headaches and I think–"

"What, Harry?"

He sighed. "I feel more exposed than ever before. After his lessons. It's almost like…like it makes things worse, you know? I have these dreams and…"

"That's not right." Hermione frowned at him. "Have you told him that? I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be getting worse."

"Of course I haven't told him," snapped Harry. "It's Snape for Christ's sake. I wish I could write to Sirius somehow, but…"

For the millionth time, Hermione wished that Harry would be able to place his trust in an adult. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Snape was helping in that respect.

"But you're afraid to cause another conflict, right?" she said. "What about Dumbledore?"

Harry merely shrugged, letting them know in his way that it would never happen.

Hermione turned to Ron, but he just gave her a look of helpless indecision. "We should get to class," he said, saving Harry from further interrogation. "Snape will have our heads for real if we're late."

Right. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Potions. She would have her answer to what Snape thought about her letter in just a few minutes.

She felt numb and her hands were clammy as Ron and Harry led the way through the halls and down into the dungeons. What in the world possessed her to write a Christmas card? For Snape? He would probably skin her alive and use her remains for potions. She nervously followed behind Ron and took the seat next to Neville near the back of the class.

Or maybe he wouldn't? Maybe Snape got cards from many students and didn't think much of it? At least he might get some from the Slytherins. It wasn't that unusual a thing, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had several on their classroom desks. Hermione winced as Snape strode in behind them, closing the door behind him like a trap. He sent her a vicious glare.

On second thoughts, she didn't think he got that that many cards at all. None, judging by that look.

Hermione kept her head low as Snape went up front to write out today's recipe on the board. He looked tired, she noticed, worn down by strife and war. His shoulder-length hair was greasy and his face drawn and haggard.

"The Draught of Peace," he said in a low voice, "calms anxiety and soothes agitation. I expect some of you may find it useful in preparation for your upcoming OWLs."

The class was silent, as it always was when Snape taught. Unlike Umbridge, he could command a group of students by his mere presence. He walked down between the rows of desks and Hermione tensely followed his movements.

"But beware, because despite its name, this potion is difficult to make." Snape gave Neville a menacing look. "The directions are detailed. You must follow them precisely, with the exact order and amounts, unless you want to put the drinker in a sleep so deep it may be irreversible."

With a sweep past Harry and Ron's desk, Snape flicked his wand to open the storage closet in the back. "The instructions are on the board," he said, "and on page one hundred and thirty-four in _Magical Draughts and Potions_. You may begin."

After a brief comparison to the recipe on the board, Hermione decided to go with the textbook version. It should be safer in any case, especially since she noticed a discrepancy between the two over how long to stir after adding the unicorn horn. She gathered what she needed form the storeroom and set about making the base.

But she never made it to the unicorn horn, although she was not alone in that. Many of her classmates were doing poorly. Seamus' cauldron emitted green sparks before they were halfway through and Goyle's brew smelled distinctly of sulphur. Neville looked just about ready to give up when his potion attained a cement-like quality instead of the turquoise blue liquid with silver vapour that was expected.

Snape was right. The potion was difficult. But Hermione wouldn't normally had problems with the recipe, no matter how many steps it had and how accurately they needed to be followed. Following instruction was what she was good at after all.

No, her problem was with Snape.

And it started when he came over to have a look inside her cauldron. Everything was going perfectly so far. The potion had simmered for exactly seven minutes and she was ready to begin adding the first set of porcupine quills when she felt him breathing down her neck. She added the ingredient and the potion turned red, but still he wouldn't budge. He loomed behind her, big and threatening and her fingers started to tremble.

Would he call her out for sending him a card? In front of the entire class? Would he put her down for it and make fun at her?

It seemed very likely at that moment, and Hermione's hands were sweaty as she picked up the ladle to stir. Snape was so close that had she been in her cat form, with a cat's hearing, she was sure she would have heard his heartbeat again just as she did when he carried her through the dungeon to his rooms.

She put the ladle away and still he stood there watching. What was next? She pulled her textbook closer and skimmed the page nervously. Right, porcupine quills. She was ready to add the hellebore then. It would have to be seven drops exactly. Her fingers shook as she uncorked the vial. Snape was watching Neville now, which was a relief, but why wouldn't he move away from her? Was he trying to intimidate her? To make her fail?

One drop, two drops…three. She added the fourth with the outmost care when Snape's hand suddenly shot out to grasp hers. "Miss Granger," he hissed, but it was too late.

Her cauldron burst into fire, splattering her free hand and her clothes with scolding hot liquid and flames. She yelped in pain and staggered backwards, straight into Snape. But she was too busy trying to quench the fire on her jumper to notice him and that he aimed his wand at her.

"_Aquamenti_," she heard and ice-cold water drenched her from head to toe. The flames on her jumper and in her cauldron hissed and sputtered and went out.

She stood there for several heartbeats, panting and dripping on the floor. Now she knew how Neville felt. Her jumper had a large scorch mark and her hand throbbed form the burn. She quickly hid it behind her back to prevent Snape from noticing. Everyone's eyes were on her now, her classmate's faces reflecting surprise, concern, and in many cases satisfaction. Her cheeks burned in time with her hand.

Only when he stirred, did she notice that Snape still held her other arm in a vice-like grip.

"The Draught of Peace," he said in a low, cold voice, "requires powdered moonstone to be added before the hellebore." He abruptly let her go and she flinched away from him. "Do any of you morons know why?"

The room was utterly silent. Hermione cleared her voice, summoning what little courage she had left. "Because it reacts –ah– violently with lacewing flies. Sir."

She couldn't believe how she managed such a thing, but she must have skipped at least three steps in the recipe. And all because of Snape and his prowling. "The moonstone is there to stabilise it."

"Quite." Snape pointed a yellow finger at her. "Detention, Granger. This evening, my office. And that's thirty points from Gryffindor for your carelessness." He gave her a contemptuous sneer. "Get out of my classroom."

Hermione didn't have to be asked twice. She kept her eyes down as she gathered her things so that she wouldn't have to see the scorn in Snape's eyes.

She had to remind herself that this was the same man who held her so gently and healed her while she was a cat. The one who Sirius called Snivellus and git and greasy bat.

The rest of the class silently watched her leave. She had never received detention before. Not once. Not even after the disastrous affair with the troll as a first-year. She blinked away a few stray tears when she was finally free of the stale dungeon air.

Luckily, her next class was almost forty minutes away. She shivered from the cold and with nothing else to do, she decided to go and change her clothes and put something on her hand. It ached and stung, but not quite as much as the humiliation. Snape had sent her from his class. And given her detention. But far worse than that was his anger and it slowly kindled hers.

How could she have thought that a Christmas card could please him? This was Snape. Did she think that just because she knew more about him now, that he would somehow become friendly with her? It was ridiculous and foolish and she promised herself never to fall into that trap again. She had no business being this hurt by something that every student of Hogwarts experienced from time to time. Everyone knew Snape's disposition, like that of a trapped badger, and she should have known better too than to let him get to her.

"Miss Granger."

She startled when another set of footsteps joined hers in the deserted corridor outside the Great Hall. She turned to see Professor Dumbledore come up beside her.

"Shirking classes?" he asked mildly. "To go for a swim? How very unlike you."

Hermione froze. She had barely talked to Dumbledore before and it had always been about Harry. She didn't quite know how to act, with all his formidable attention directed towards her.

"I'm not, Sir," she replied, and partly because she was angry with Snape and partly because Dumbledore seemed genuinely concerned, she told him the truth. "I blew up my first cauldron today." She offered him a weak smile. "Professor Snape gave me detention. Then he asked me to leave the room, in no uncertain terms."

"I see." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled down at her over his half-moon spectacles. "May I have a look at that?" He pointed at her hand.

"It's nothing." Embarrassed, she covered the burn with her hand. "My jumper caught fire, that's all. Professor Snape put it out rather quickly."

"I can tell." Dumbledore waved his wand over her and before she could even blink, she was comfortably warm and dry.

"Thank, you, Sir." She looked up at him shyly.

"Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, a bit more serious, "I must ask you to head in the other direction." He nodded at her hand. "I believe that requires the Hospital Wing. I am surprised that Professor Snape didn't send you there himself."

He watched her quizzically, apparently expecting an answer. Hermione felt trapped in front of this very powerful wizard. There was no use lying to him, he had the means to get what information he desired. "I hid it from Professor Snape," she said timidly, "I didn't want him to see it because, erm..."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well," he said, cutting her off with a gesture of his hand. "I shall remind Professor Snape of his responsibilities. No student in this school should bear an injury untreated. Now move along. Madam Pomfrey shall be waiting for you."

Oh, no, no, no. Hermione silently reeled. How could things go this quickly from bad to worse? The Headmaster would reprimand Snape on her behalf now and that wasn't what she wanted at all. He would hate her for it for sure.

"Please, Professor," she tried, "don't say anything to him. I'm fine, I really am. You don't have to–"

"Now, now, Miss Granger." Dumbledore smiled down at her thorough his beard. "Not another word and do not worry yourself. Professor Snape isn't half as bad as he'll have you believe, but sometimes even he needs a reminder of what his immediate duties are." He pushed her along in the direction of the stairs. "Look sharp now. That hand won't heal on its own."

With no other option available, Hermione did as she was told. But she swore to herself that whatever Dumbledore would say to Snape, she would be there to find out. At the very least, if Dumbledore gave him yet another reason to hate her, she would be prepared.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione hesitated outside of Snape's office. She clenched and unclenched her hand, the one now judiciously salved and bandaged by Madam Pomfrey.

Detention. She had detention. And with Snape, of all people. She almost wished her injury were more serious, at least then, he might have spared a scrap of sympathy for her.

But she had no illusions this time. Snape was livid, that much was obvious. And all because of an innocent Christmas card. She was so disappointed. How could he be that mean? She hadn't even signed it. She had only been trying to help, to be kind.

But it wouldn't do standing around and dreading the inevitable. She would just have to take it, whatever he might have her do. Pick rat's brains probably, or disembowel frogs. Or perhaps he'd just yell – that would somehow be even worse.

She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, raised her hand–

"I thought you'd never knock. You're very nearly late."

The low voice, coming from directly behind, caught her completely by surprise. Hermione whirled around and before she could think, she had her wand out. It was raised at the level of Snape's chest, lodged squarely between two of the buttons of his coat.

He recoiled a step and blinked before aiming a thunderous glare at her. "Put that away," he hissed. "Or I'll have you in detention for the rest of your miserable life."

Too shocked to see comedy in the situation, Hermione hastily retreated. "I'm sorry," she stammered, lowering her wand. "You startled me, that's all."

"At least your reflexes are adequate," she heard him growl as he swept past her to open the door. She tried not to feel embarrassed. Never had she raised her wand against a teacher before, but surely, it was his own fault for lurking about like that.

Taking a deep breath, she followed him into the gloomy office, keeping herself at a safe distance. Snape retreated behind his desk and she stood there in the centre of the room, shivering and unsure what to do with herself.

It was moist and cold. There was no fire in the hearth this time, but a large gold cauldron on a small desk emitted a greenish glow. The content bubbled and hissed.

Hermione watched Snape's bent head as he wrote something on a piece of parchment. He wore the exact same he wore every day. Tight fitting coat and trousers, the long cape falling around him, and that unkempt hair.

Maybe she had just become used to the way he looked after keeping an eye on him for so long. Because she found his appearance not wholly unbecoming. Tilting her head, she thought back, failing to remember anyone having talked positively about him in this way before, not even the teachers. Not even at the Yule Ball last Christmas. Then again, he'd pretty much looked the same then as now. A bit of polish to his shoes perhaps, but that was all.

"It isn't polite to stare, Miss Granger."

Snape's eyes were mistrustful and Hermione quickly averted her own. Had he not been so obviously uncomfortable with her watching him, she might have been relived that he mistook her admiration for scorn. As it were, she was equally reluctant to send a message of dislike at this point.

"Your detention," he said curtly, coming around the desk to hand the parchment over to her. She caught it, expecting a list of chores, but the note was very brief. On the top of the page stood in Snape's cramped, spidery hand:

_I will respect my teachers and not use knowledge gained in my classes against them._

"Lines?" She looked up at him, caught off guard by the nature of the message.

What did he think she was up to? This had nothing to do with potions. Did he think she was disrespecting him by intentionally causing the fire? It had hurt her a lot more than it hurt him.

"A hundred of them should do," said Snape. "I expect them back next lesson. And make sure you retain the message."

She looked around the room, but there was no space for her to work there. Not unless she counted Snape's own desk, which she most emphatically did not. Besides, she had the impression from Harry that Snape's detentions were usually carried out in the potions classroom.

"I'm not supposed to do them here?" she asked him warily.

"I trust you can manage on your own." Snape turned away from her to put his quill away. "I have no more time to waste on you today."

Hermione blinked. "I don't understand," she said weakly. "The explosion was an accident, sir. I didn't mean it. I was distracted and missed a part of the recipe."

Snape frowned at her oddly. "Well," he said, "I assume you know which parts?"

"Yes, of course. Several rounds of porcupine quills and the final addition of moonstone. It was completely idiotic, I–"

"Quite." Snape cut her off. "If you can figure that out, then I'm sure you can figure out why I'm assigning you this particular lesson." He threw her a look of utter distaste. "In fact, I am confident you already know. Do not mistake me for a fool, Granger. And be sure to pass the message along to your _friends_."

He spat the last word out as though it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Hermione's blood ran cold. Had Umbridge told him about her letter of complaint? It was never meant for his eyes, but if he knew it might explain his hostility. Oh God, she hoped it had worked in the right way and that it wouldn't backfire. She peeked up at him, careful not to meet his eyes. She knew enough about legilimency from what Harry had told her to make sure her secrets were safe.

"What do you mean?" she asked timidly. "Sir?"

Snape watched her suspiciously. She wished she could transform into a cat so that he could trust her a little more, but that was of course impossible.

"I don't know what game you are playing," he said coldly, "but believe me, I am going to find out."

Hermione froze. This was the decisive moment. She didn't want to push him, but she had to know what this was about. "Game?" she asked, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Don't pretend ignorance," hissed Snape. He picked something off the top of his desk and held it out to her. "Perhaps you wish to explain it to me then. What is this?"

Hermione blushed when she recognised her own handwriting on the small slip of parchment. "It's, err, a Christmas card. Sir."

"I am aware of that," said Snape with the mien of someone who had extensively checked the letter for traps and offensive spells. "Why did you send it to me?"

Hermione blinked at him, confused. Was all this just because of the card? Relief washed over her, calm and warm.

"It's just a card," she said honestly, finally able to meet his gaze. "I meant no disrespect. It's just a card that I wrote during my holidays. There are no traps or tricks, not anything."

Snape bared a set of crooked, yellowing teeth. "You think I have not checked?"

"I don't see why you would." Hermione fought to keep the hurt out of her voice. "But you can always throw it away if you don't like it."

"Believe me, I will." Snape cruelly crumpled the card in his hand and threw it into the litter bin. His dark eyes glittered in the dim light. "Now get out."

If she hadn't been in such a hurry to escape, Hermione might have stopped to have a closer look at the shade of soft pink across Snape's sallow cheeks and the subtle flash of shame in his eyes. As it were, she thought she had rather overstayed her welcome.

She dashed out of the room, careful not to close the door behind her. She had every intention of coming back to hear what Dumbledore had to say, but first she needed to stow away her detention. She would have to put that off for later. Snape had given her the weekend after all, which was nice perhaps, if one chose to take it that way.

Thankfully, the corridors were empty. Hermione gave the password to the Fat Lady and rushed up to her dorm, ignoring Ron and Harry, who sat by the fire and didn't notice her. She was too eager about her plans to bother explaining anything to them. If they asked, she would tell them she had spying to do and that they would catch up in the morning.

She dropped the assignment Snape had given her on the bed and left her bag along with it. But just as she was about to run back out, Lavender appeared.

"What's the hurry, Hermione?" she asked, looking her up and down. "Don't you have detention tonight?"

"I'm off the hook." Hermione grinned at her. "I have lines to do, but Professor Snape let me hand them in next lesson. How's that for luck?"

"Yeah…you sure seem happy about it." Lavender sat on her bed. "Do you have plans? I mean, getting away from Snape is always something to celebrate, but you're practically bubbling over." She narrowed her eyes and smiled knowingly. "Are you meeting up with your secret boyfriend again?"

"Of course not," said Hermione without thinking, all she wanted right then was to return to the dungeon. "I don't have a boyfriend."

But apparently that was a misstep. Hermione saw something flash across Lavender's eyes and it wasn't a happy pastel-coloured dream this time. "Is it Dean?" she asked sharply, suddenly alert and wary.

"God, no!" Hermione flushed. Damn Lavender for being able to read her excitement so well. "I'm not in love with Dean, believe me, I–" She saw Lavender's frown deepen and hastily tried to remedy the situation. "I mean, he's handsome and all –err– I mean kind and brave, but –"

Oh dear. Lavender was scowling now. Hermione knew her face must be beet red, but she had no idea how to repair this blunder. She had never had many female friends and didn't understand all those secret codes. But there was no mistaking Lavender's expression. Whatever it was she thought, Hermione was sure she was suspicious now.

But she couldn't very well admit to fancying Snape, now could she? It was ludicrous in any case –because she certainly didn't– but that was quite beside the point!

"You would tell me though?" Lavender gave her a glance that was surely meant to be read as indifferent. "If you were dating Dean? Wouldn't you, Hermione?"

"Of course I would." Hermione tried to make her smile sincere. "Of course I would, I would never–"

"Right." Lavender shrugged and turned away. "Fine then."

"Okay." Hermione wrung her hands, anxious to be gone. "Well, I'll see you later, Lavender," she said weakly. "Good luck. Err, with Dean, I mean."

She winced at her own awkwardness, but didn't linger to hear Lavender's reply. Enough was enough and she would only put her own foot further in if she stayed. Without looking back, she snuck past Harry and Ron in the common room and out into the corridor, closing the portrait door silently behind her back.

The Fat Lady watched her. "Aah," she sang. "Aren't we all rosy and flustered? Meeting with a boy?"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" Hermione whipped around. "Why does everyone think I–" She bit back on her retort and shook her head. "Never mind," she growled, stalking off. "Have a pleasant evening."

"Remember curfew," the Fat Lady called after her. "And no snogging in the corridors!"

The blasted portrait. As soon as Hermione was out of the Fat Lady's field of vision, she slipped behind a suit of armour and transformed. She had quite enough of female communication for one evening. This was getting ridiculous. It was like living inside a Brontë novel. Everything was much easier for cats. They didn't have to explain their every action and weren't suspected of loving every male that wasn't dead.

But just as she was about to slip towards the main staircase, she saw the portrait to the common room open once more. Hermione froze. Lavender's golden locks fell around her shoulders as her head appeared in the opening. She peered around, her head swivelling this way and that.

Hermione tried to make herself as small as possible and Lavender's gaze slid past her. She was obviously trying to be stealthy as she crept down the stair, peeking over the railing every now and then. Hermione followed her lead, trailing just as cautiously in her wake.

The stalked following the stalker. The idea was appealing in a way, but she wasn't interested in Lavender. When she disappeared down the library corridor on the first floor, Hermione continued down the stairs.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she came down into the chilly dungeon air. Fortunately, she met no other students on her way to Snape's office.

The door was still slightly ajar from her bursting out in a rush and she carefully crept closer until she could peek through it.

Snape was back behind his desk, looking much more relaxed than before. He had his glasses on now and sat with his head bent over something. Hermione would have smiled to herself, if she could. She liked the glassed. He looked gentler with them on. He probably had trouble reading in the evenings when there was no proper light.

But then she looked closer and her heart did a jittery little dance. In his hand was a tiny, crumpled note. Her card.

She stalled at the doorstep, daring a thin, timid "meow."

Snape glanced up from his desk and stilled. Hermione took another step towards him, pleased to see his eyes soften. She could almost imagine he had missed her.

"Are you all alone?" Snape put the wrinkled card down. He looked at the door then back at her, listening, before flicking his wand once to gently shut it behind her.

"Where have you been, Traitor, hm?" He leaned back in his chair and watched as she approached his feet. "I haven't seen you for a while. I thought you had forgotten about me."

How could she forget? Hermione let the comfort of being around a calm Snape wash over her. He was so different when she was a cat. Far from the harsh, strained, sometimes unbalanced man he was when he taught them potions. It probably shouldn't amaze her, yet it did. She watched him remove his spectacles and place them on top of the card on his desk. In the quiet of his office, Snape was normal in the muggle way. He was normal like her father was normal. He was feet-on-the-table-after-a-long-day-at-work normal and it was such a mesmerising contrast.

She took charge and jumped, first briefly to Snape's knee then up at his desk. She waited with bated breath to see if he would object. But he didn't. Instead he leaned closer.

"Why are you here, little cat?" he whispered, resting his arm on the desk next to her. "Did you come to wish me a happy birthday?"

Hermione blinked. She hadn't known. Perhaps no one did. She felt suddenly guilty for blowing a cauldron and having detention on this day of all days. Then again, Snape didn't seem to be in a hurry to celebrate. There were no flowers in his office, nor gifts from well-wishers. She wondered if his colleagues remembered. Headmaster Dumbledore would surely know, and possibly Professor McGonagall.

What would he have done if she had made him a present? She could shave chuckled at the thought had she been able. Poor man, judging by the way he took the Christmas card, he would have probably had an aneurysm.

He didn't seem to know what to do with a pet either. He just sat there, watching her, made no move to touch her. Hermione inched a little closer to him and sat, blinked at him, slowly, the way a content cat would do to a friend. But still he remained lost in thought.

They were very close now. She could feel his breath on her whiskers, just like before. Snape's eyes were a very dark brown, she noticed, feeling safe to look at them as a cat. Dark brown with a few specks of almost black. He had lines of worry on his face and this close, she could see a sparse few, barely noticeable streaks of grey in his hair. They made her a little sad; as though they were an omen of his mortality.

Snape sighed and turned slightly away from her, reaching for a notebook that waited on his desk. It seemed to contain recipes. She jumped out of his way when he brought out a quill and ink. He put his glasses on again, squinting down at his work and Hermione curled up on the edge of his desk to watch.

She was neglecting her studies and most certainly Snape's detention, but she found it worth it just to be near him. The room was getting comfortably warm. He had lit a fire after she left in human form and it crackled merrily behind her, warming her back. He had a tin of biscuits on his desk and she whimsically noted how he seemed to prefer ginger over lemon.


End file.
